


Generation

by ParadifeLoft



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Aromantic Character, Author enjoys subverting the romantic interest as humanity/morality chain trope for fun and profit, F/F, Gen, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: Darth Nox re-evaluates some aspects of her life after the events of Oricon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a.k.a the "why the fuck is Ahriss of all people married???" fic

_What is it you fear?_

The question, and the same cadence of the voice that always asked it, had been pulsing through Ahriss’s mind like pseudo-auditory aftershocks since she’d woken up that morning. It was getting tiresome, but the theme stayed no less compelling for the repetition. Unfortunately.

Splashing water over her face, Ahriss shut her eyes and rubbed away the previous day and night’s grime into the bathroom sink, with the years of experience at it preventing her from drenching the implants along her jaw in the process. Once she’d rinsed the layer of soapy film off, dissatisfaction prodded her to pause for a moment at her reflection in the mirror. After a month and a half, the discoloration to her skin, the spidery veins opened and bleeding close to the surface near her mouth and eyes, had finally almost faded to invisibility. A certain relief in that – on her colleagues, it might have looked like decades’ worth of power, but on her it just made her look sick. Young and vulnerable and in too far over her head. She was tired of scrubbing away the signs of weakness with makeup.

That and – she knew better now, had consulted in utmost secrecy with a Biotic Science tech regarding her altered cellular function and received answers that eased her alarm – but waking up each day to a visible mark of the power she had channeled on her body also echoed, however faintly, the panic that had seized her when she first discovered it. She was supposed to be immune to the Force’s somatic degenerative effects (and she was, but the details were everything), and yet the powers suffusing her on Oricon had not only near stolen her sanity but touched her physical form as well…

What do you fear, indeed. She had so much she hadn’t even begun to do, and signs of weakness were but the first step toward death.

Zash might have given Ahriss invaluable information on the structure of the Sphere Ahriss now headed – personal affiliations and webs of allegiance, and personality quirks that couldn’t be gleaned solely from Imperial Databank files – but her former master, now informal subordinate, had spent much of the years before they meet as an Acquisitions Ministry field worker, systems and sectors away from Dromund Kaas with its political quagmires, and there was only so much she could tell her. Less, probably, that she _would_ – bound loyalty was one thing; willing collaboration was another. Darth Nox was in no position to forget that.

Not when the rest of the Council (and a fair number of her own subordinates) considered her a rival, or a tool, or – expendable. The best advantage a man like Marr could ask for: someone powerful, with no power _base_. A free-floating entity whose name could be easily added to the list of Councilors replaced in the past two years, once her life had been burnt out on whatever critical damage control or opportunity sprang up next.

Or – and this was perhaps the most frightening thought, the one she didn’t want to admit to herself even when it had been so aptly demonstrated to her face – once she’d burnt _herself_ out. Destroyed all potential for what she hoped to accomplish, what she hoped to create for the Empire, by refusing to ignore the seductiveness of letting power consume her, becoming nothing but its conduit. What an offer – become a primal force of terror and madness, inextricably intertwined with other minds forming a single unit, _belonging_ … give up on the galaxy and its petty struggles for the heady solipsism of a personal fortress, impenetrable prison, palace for all her bloody and gluttonous desires. The lust in that dream alone had nearly made a fool of her.

It was only a fool who trusted solely to her strength of will to safeguard her treasures, when there was any available method of doing otherwise.

And a Sith who wished her name to be respected and remembered needed a legacy. Ahriss had achieved a Councilorship through merit, a name through the Force’s fortunes – but it was a name that had been hollow for a millennium. The established families paid her respect, certainly, but she wasn’t naïve enough to think they didn’t whisper behind her back of _a slave’s undeserved entitlement_. It was the quandary of all Sith who came from ignoble backgrounds (to one degree or another): when all you represented was yourself, half the weight your power carried was the shadow of the history and interwoven ties to the rest of the Empire that you lacked. She needed… _something_ , to counter that. To be Sith was to seek freedom, but freedom was not, as some of her more obnoxious colleagues seemed to think, a ruinous and ungrateful divestment from the society that was the very blood of the Sith to begin with.

What she needed to do, was put her own blood _back_ into that society, since every other drop of it had been scrubbed away clean a decade ago when nothing more had been thought of it than property.

At that moment, her datapad beeped reproachfully at her: she was behind schedule, again, and still had a message from a few days ago from Elana Thul that she needed to answer, about how she would be on Dromund Kaas in a few weeks and would she like to meet and catch up. Yet another thing she needed to take care of… but for now, fine, it was time to get to the Citadel; the archaeology site logs and reports from the first quarter of her new history curriculum program wouldn’t review themselves. She could contemplate this other, more personal problem later.

 

* * *

 

  

If Elana had expected anything in particular when she had admitted interest in Ahriss Kallig’s choice of restaurant for their dinner tonight, this wasn’t it. _A more galactic display of wealth than I would have assumed from you_ , was how Elana had put it – bright and delicate architecture, artwork on the walls originating from a variety of non-Imperial planets and species. Mostly, she was just curious whether the Sith had drifted away from the rather defining traditionalism she’d worn most of the time Elana had known her, though she doubted it regardless, expecting her question to be brushed away with references to the quality of the food, or even to putting Elana’s Alderaanian sensibilities at ease.

Instead, Lord Kallig had merely smiled, and laughed slightly as with a full awareness that no, this wasn’t typical at all. “A Sith has no need to go to a restaurant to see the same scenery she’s used to in her home,” she said in response – though one that she suspected was a reference to something more than just the _restaurant_ , otherwise it was a bit too lacking in actual explanation.

If Elana didn’t know any better she might have wondered if it was an oblique attempt at flattery. Or at least an _intentional_ one. It would have been her style, in any case.

“Besides,” Kallig added a few moments later, as if just remembering another piece. “I’ve made friends with the Treasury Minister, and she has a bit more expansive taste for me to learn from.”

Elana raised an eyebrow. Though she didn’t regret the cause of it, she’d been away from the Empire long enough to be _entirely_ behind on who the current Minister for the Treasury was… To Kallig at least she was comfortable admitting that gap in her knowledge, especially since the woman would surely fill her in out of a compulsion to talk as much as possible. But the ignorance still displeased her. She was no longer naïve enough to assume the relationship between Empire and Thul was reciprocal in power, and her own status among her house only multiplied that imbalance.

“Tsajah Brayuss,” Kallig clarified, as she picked up the menu for the main course. Elana followed suit with the second copy. “Lovely woman. Very clever. We met shortly before the Kaggath – was news of that broadcast on Alderaan? Poor Thanaton took exception to her low birth and penchant for taxing the sale and interplanetary transportation of Sith artefacts.”

Though Lord Kallig herself had never supplied all the details of her power struggle with the late Councilor, Elana had done enough digging while reading her letters to be able to fill in the blanks. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

Kallig’s mouth stretched in a wide smile, giving the impression of a predator so secure in the certainty of its hunt’s outcome that it no longer held any need for subterfuge. Her eyes glinted golden slits and wide dark pupils under the bloody red smoke of her makeup. (The same look she’d given Elana at one point when she’d come for that surprise visit several years after their first meeting… Best not to contemplate that too extensively.)

“If I might let you in on a small secret – that’s the advantage of growing up without status, my dear Elana. The baseline you know how to work from is _nothing_. I’m perfectly happy to let her take her cut in taxes when she repays me with all the rest of the Darths’ and Lords’ secrets that get funneled through her department.”

Perhaps it was her instincts being misled by her associations with that smile nonetheless, or by the sudden lightness in her stomach and heat in her chest at the casual caress lent to her name (her _personal_ name)… but if she didn’t miss the mark, _information_ wasn’t the only coin Kallig received in return from this Minister Brayuss.

She realised she wasn’t quite sure what feelings she had about that.

“That does indeed seem like an advantageous bargain,” Elana demurred. She had time to return a small pleased, interested expression herself, before the closing-in spiral of conspiratorial rapport was disrupted for a few moments by the arrival of a young lady server with their drinks (plum wine for Elana, oolong for Lord Kallig). Not a droid, as was far more common elsewhere in the galaxy, but a well-groomed human… certainly a message there, but there was additional social information she wasn’t privy to that would have allowed her to fully decode it. Kallig didn’t even blink; Elana guessed whatever the message, it was entirely included in her awareness and intentions selecting this place for their meal.

Ah, but the advantage she’d nearly forgotten about going for dinner in Imperial space – a selection of drinks half-remembered from formal dinners and eavesdropping on meetings between her relatives and their allies as a child, impossible to find so far into the Galactic Core as Alderaan. Perhaps, she thought with an indulged hint of whimsy, it wouldn’t be so difficult someday soon.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Kallig drawled once the server had left, her voice crisp on the word’s onset and sliding lazily, invitingly through the next syllables. “If I recall what I’d been saying earlier – it’s interesting what a bit of a more galactic perspective you can acquire conversing with people outside the Order. Not my usual habit, but –” she laughed, “ – broader horizons.”

Elana felt rather warm, and the drinks had barely just arrived. “Is _that_ why you invited me here tonight?” she returned, pendant earrings swinging slightly as she shifted in her chair. “Curious about something off your usual paths?”

Her companion tilted her head, almost searchingly watching Elana for a moment – before she glanced off to the side of the room, filling Elana’s view with the unscarred half of her face, prominent cheeks highlighted a redder brown, reminiscent of the species the Empire took its name from. “Maybe I might say… returning to an older path I enjoy the memory of,” she murmured, and then paused. “And forming a new one.”

Their conversation turned to Elana’s childhood in Imperial space once the food itself came; what trappings she found familiar or changed, which aspects of her once-home she was discovering as new now that she traveled of her own accord and not as a junior member of another’s party. And then, inexorably – the evolving situation on Alderaan, and the political motives and circumstances behind her visit.

It was clear by now, to everyone but the most pigheadedly self-deceptive, that despite everyone’s best efforts, Thul was simply not going to win the throne. Elana had accepted this fact with grace, if not a fair bit of disappointment; the slow dissolution of fanciful childhood dreams set on a planet she’d never seen was not exactly a _desired_ pill to swallow, but… she was no longer a child. Wild imaginings of a ten-year-old mind, however glamorous, were less captivating today than the elegant intricacies of interdependencies and reciprocities (or the attempted avoidance thereof) that made up the political landscape visible to a twenty-eight-year-old one. And in today’s landscape… House Thul needed the Empire more than the Empire needed House Thul. Needed _anything_ in the Core, for the time being, while it licked its wounds rather than pushing for more conquest.

Elana had to change that opinion, and make a continuing mutual alliance attractive to the Empire even when its most immediate fruits would not be access to the sovereign of an entire planet.

And that was how, so help her, she found herself halfway through her pitch on the benefits of inside access to Alderaanian information networks, not to mention trade, before taking a moment to breathe allowed a beleaguered reminder to slip into her consciousness that tonight was supposed to be for _relaxation and pleasure_ , not business. Of course Kallig noticed immediately – whether it was a change in her posture that revealed it or something more arcane, Elana couldn’t say. But where the other woman had up to a moment ago been watching Elana with a steady, politely interested and calculating gaze, a switch already seemed to have turned in her animation.

“Please excuse my obsession with my work, my lord Nox” Elana rushed out after the first (and thankfully only) awkward second – slightly mortified nonetheless, but hoping to at least somewhat hide it. If it was truly possible to hide anything from a Sith.

But Kallig only quirked an eyebrow, waving away Elana’s concern with a casual hand gesture even as an amused smirk popped onto her face.

“ _Ahriss_ is fine, really,” she said, to Elana’s slight consternation focusing on the one aspect of her apology she considered least significant. “I don’t honestly hear it much, these days – it’s all _Darth Nox_ this, and _Darth Nox_ that, _Lord Nox are you sure you want to bring home part of the Dread Masters’ palace for your living room_.”

Elana blinked, and made what she was sure must be an appalling face as she tried to stifle a disbelieving giggle. Simply because Kallig – Nox – _Ahriss_ – was content to blithely ignore her social embarrassment didn’t mean she herself ought to be similarly distracted! – But the self-satisfied amusement in her catlike golden eyes was just a bit too contagious. “You didn’t. – Did you?”

“It was an absolutely lovely piece of architecture! Not to mention of _immense_ historical value. Really, you could say it was my duty to the Sith to take it home with me.”

How a Sith of the Dark Council could be so good at looking innocent was an utter mystery, endearing as it was. Elana ducked her head down toward her meal and lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips to hide the smile insistent on forming out of them.

Neither spoke for a few moments after that; enough for Elana to almost wonder if she’d said (or not said) something wrong. And when Kallig broke the silence, her tone was abruptly, entirely different.

“Actually, I… That reminds me of… something I’d been meaning to bring up with you. Elana.” Where just a moment ago she’d been cocksure, entertained and entertaining, almost dramatic and larger in her persona than her stature in a simple holo would imply, she now sounded… _hesitant_. Unsure of herself. It was enough to sober Elana’s own mood immediately, looking up to watch and assure Kallig of her undivided attention. What topic – what topic relevant to _her_? – would cause the woman to speak in such a way?

“I don’t know how much knowledge you have of… us as a _people_ ,” she continued, herself glancing down for a moment and bringing her hands clasped together above the table. “That is to say, I imagine there are – certain similarities, to the social expectations of the nobility of Alderaan. What I’m getting at is, for a Sith in a position such as mine, personal power is not the only metric of importance in the eyes of other Sith. It’s not the only value we contribute to the Empire, particularly the _future_ of the Empire, and the Sith ourselves… Most Sith come from established families, you know, and it is a duty they have to continue the old bloodlines. And… through a certain sort of… _historical accident_ … my position is such that I do not currently have a true house of my own – and that circumstance is one that I have recently been convinced I would like to improve.

So what I am asking, Elana – is if in the interest of a mutual alliance, you would consent to marry me.”

The idea had crossed her mind as Kallig had been speaking, certainly, bringing up _families_ and _bloodlines_ … but not enough and not with enough time to think ahead to what the exchange would look like if that prediction came true. Elana blinked for a moment, holding her body still as her mind raced frantically to perform what would ordinarily be months’ worth of social assessments by multiple people in the space of a few seconds.

And then she almost laughed at the irony of it all. She’d come to Dromund Kaas hoping to secure and reaffirm Thul’s alliance with the Sith. And now an option for doing just that had been dropped into her lap.

A one with more potential risk than she (and the senior members of her house) had been envisioning, she supposed, since a deal with any one Sith brought particularly dangerous enemies as well as resources, and had a certain fragility given the wide range of Dark Lords’ lifespans. But on the other hand… _Kallig_ had asked _her_. This was not some condescending bargain offered in obvious sight of Thul weakness, to be discarded when an inevitable better option came along.

And whatever could be said for the politics of the situation, the young lord had saved her life, once upon a time. And she _liked_ her, quite a lot, as a person. And a lover…

Sweet Force. The dukes and counts would have words for her when she reported back. But at least she could do this in a halfway intelligent manner.

Kallig had always occupied a middle ground as far as emotional concealment went, since Elana had known her; and now was no different – no obvious nonverbal pleading or stricken anguish, but she still looked by no means relaxed. What a situation this must be for her. The least Elana could do was not dither over minutiae when, if she were being honest with herself, she already knew what the answer was.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Well, I – ” (this was not how she’d ever imagined this happening, and wasn’t that terrifying?), “ – pending the exact details of what agreement we might draw up… yes, I would.”

Elana could almost see when Kallig let out the breath she’d been holding. They watched each other, near frozen for a moment.

“I’m glad,” Kallig responded first, stilted and awkward still, expression looking as though she wasn’t sure whether the proper thing to do would be smile or express a more somber appreciation. “You will not regret this, I assure you.”

Elana couldn’t quite help but laugh at that, a small and good-natured laugh that snuck up on her in the near-absurdity of the situation. A Sith had just proposed marriage to her with no forewarning, and she’d said yes. And – obviously this was not what Ahriss was referring to, but, no, she didn’t regret that.


End file.
